Posse by Kate Welshman Page A

is Sproule’s style, though. She’s such a phoney. Remember the Lemon Vodka Girls?’
    How could anyone forget the Lemon Vodka Girls?
    About two years ago, Mrs Sproule made an example of some Year Seven girls who were silly enough to take a bottle of pre-mixed lemon vodka – virtually a soft drink, if you ask me – on a school trip to Canberra. She expelled the three girls who were caught sharing the bottle, as well as two others who lied to cover for their friends. The sentence was unbelievably harsh. The previous headmaster, Reverend Headlam, would have suspended them for a day and ordered them to write an essay on the Perils of Alcohol for the Young.
    But Mrs Sproule had a point to make. Like so many adults in my life, she had an image to peddle and a true self to conceal.
    Everyone knows that Mrs Sproule drinks like a fish. Everyone knows that at school functions she plies the parents and Old Girls with alcohol and tries to extract donations from them. Aroundthe time the Lemon Vodka Girls were sacrificed, there were rumours that Mrs Sproule was an alcoholic, and someone had it on good authority that during the Easter holidays when she said she was going to Hawaii, she was actually in rehabilitation.
    Whether the rumours were true or not, when an opportunity arose to show what a hard line she was taking on drinking, Mrs Sproule seized it with both hands. It was such a calculated move, it’s hard to believe anyone fell for it. But some people did. Some people will be fooled.
    â€˜But we’re not like the Lemon Vodka Girls,’ says Patricia. ‘We haven’t broken any school rules. What would be the point of expelling us?’
    â€˜Oh, I don’t think she’ll try to expel us,’ says Deborah. ‘But she will try – I mean she’s already trying – to keep this quiet. It doesn’t look good when girls get molested on a school camp. If it gets out, it’ll be in the papers …’
    â€˜Is that why Reverend Harris came to get Jo?Because it’s going to be in the papers and he doesn’t want people to think she was involved? Do you think he and Sproule have already talked about what’s going to happen?’
    â€˜I’m sure they have,’ says Deborah.
    Patricia starts to bite her nails. It’s quite an annoying – not to mention disgusting – habit. They’re already chewed down to the nub. I reach over and pull her fingers out of her mouth.
    We stop talking when Mrs Kerr arrives with a plate of fruit toast and offers it to us. I hate fruit toast, but Deborah and Patricia take a piece each and chew gingerly.
    â€˜Can I go and have a shower?’ I ask Mrs Kerr, knowing damn well that she won’t let me. Deborah looks at me and I wink.
    â€˜You can once you’ve spoken to Mrs Sproule, but not now,’ says Mrs Kerr.
    â€˜But I really stink,’ I say.
    Patricia laughs uproariously and nearly chokes on her toast. Mrs Kerr’s right on to me.
    â€˜Amy, you can save your clown routine for another day,’ she says.
    â€˜Mrs Kerr?’ Now Patricia’s having a go.
    â€˜What is it, Patricia?’
    â€˜Can I go to the toilet?’
    â€˜Do you really need to go?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    Something about the dirty big smirk on Patricia’s face tells Mrs Kerr that nature is not making a genuine call.
    â€˜I don’t believe you, Patricia.’
    Patricia’s undeterred.
    â€˜But it’s an emergency. A number two. Am I supposed to just do it in my pants?’
    â€˜Don’t be vulgar.’
    Patricia appears to give up at this point. She sits there with a very focused expression on her face. I assume that Mrs Kerr has overpowered her – that is, until Patricia overpowers everyone with the rottenest deep-from-the-bowels fart that’s ever singed my nostril hairs.
    Deborah and I leap for the door, groaning and pinching our noses. Patricia smiles. She may not be the most